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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29887671">We Only Go Backwards</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/poorly_animated/pseuds/poorly_animated'>poorly_animated</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hunter X Hunter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blindfolds, Cocaine, Comeplay, Getting Back Together, Hate Sex, M/M, Marijuana, Overstimulation, Public Humiliation, Recreational Drug Use, Sex Toys, Vibrators</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:48:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,841</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29887671</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/poorly_animated/pseuds/poorly_animated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ging is in town for a Zodiac meeting. He and Pariston have some catching up to do.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ging Freecs/Pariston Hill</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Relapse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s a remarkably beautiful morning. The sun pours over the windowsill and paints the room in gold, draping a warm blanket atop the scratched wooden floors. Birds sing cheerfully outside. Ging groans and rubs his eyes. His head is pounding, his stomach growls threateningly, and he can’t quite remember how he got back to his apartment last night. Did he sleep with someone, or was that just a dream? Probably doesn’t matter. He drags his body across the disheveled sheets and slides to the floor, reaching for a nearby shirt. A menacing burp escapes his throat and he groans again as he shuffles towards the bathroom. If he’s still this hungover in an hour, he’s skipping the meeting, Netero be damned. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Ging finally manages to stumble into his kitchen, he nearly loses his stomach again. Pariston is smiling at him from behind the counter, wearing a perfectly pressed pink suit and holding up two cups of coffee. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Goooood morning!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, fuck,” Ging grunts. He drags his hands down his face with a loud groan, wondering how he let this happen again. He’s too hungover to deal. Irritatingly chipper pop music blares from his busted radio. His stomach churns as he inhales the smell of omelets and sausage, realizing as he breathes that Pariston went to the store and came back, because he definitely didn’t have any eggs in the fridge. He sighs heavily and glares at the blonde. “Why are you still here, man? Let me be hungover in peace.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston shrugs. “You’re always so grumpy in the mornings,” he sighs, “I don’t know why I bother.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh.” Ging snatches the coffee out of Pariston’s hand and gulps half of it in one go, trying to ignore his stomach’s protests. He burps loudly. Maybe if he’s gross enough, Pariston will fuck off. And maybe if he eats, he can convince himself he really wants Pariston to fuck off. He grabs a sausage link with a bare hand and bites into it angrily. “Whaddya want, Pares?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who said I wanted something? I’m just offering you breakfast,” Pariston hums. His fingers click loudly as he types on his phone. Ging counts six different chime patterns of messages coming in, six different messaging </span>
  <em>
    <span>platforms.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He yawns and scratches his chest. Pariston smiles without looking up. “What, you want me to leave, Ging?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Always.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Always? How romantic,” Pariston teases. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t even—“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“As if I’d want that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston turns his smile up to Ging. “You’re the one who wanted me here, Ging.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, even if we hooked up again, I don’t appreciate it when you stick around—“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I only arrived half an hour ago! You can’t expect me to be awake at three.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston taps his phone and Ging’s own chimes from across the cramped room, muffled in the small sofa. The brunette scowls and digs his fist between the cushions until he pulls it out and sees his texts. He did, in fact, send Pariston his location at three in the morning. And he wrote “just cum over whenevr,” and “gotta see u,” which is... mortifying. He groans and flops into the sagging pleather. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Like I said,” Pariston hums, “I’m not the one who wants something.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging scoffs. “How did you even get in here?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The door was unlocked.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dammit.” Ging takes another swig of coffee and scowls at the beat-up table under his heels. “Well, since you know where the door is, feel free to use it,” he calls over his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston smirks and brings both plates over to the couch, setting them down without taking a seat. “I liked you better when you were asleep.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Creep.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I’ll stick around,” Pariston says thoughtfully. He gives Ging a winning smile and folds his hands behind his back. “Could be interesting to see a day in the life of the legendary Ging Freeccs!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging grunts and rummages through a drawer of the coffee table. He exhales a sigh of relief when his fingers find a half-finished joint. “Whatever, Pares. I don’t want you here.” He lights the joint as he leans back, holding the smoke in his lungs as long as he can before he exhales it into Pariston’s face. The blonde’s facade cracks slightly as he waves the smoke away. Ging grins and takes another hit. “Oops. That gonna be an issue?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hardly,” Pariston chirps. “It’s only ten o’clock, though. Won’t you be tired later?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Day’s shot. I’ll stay in and go to bed early. And I’ve seen you snort—“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So </span>
  <em>
    <span>true,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and I’ve seen you—</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Earlier, hey, no—I don’t wanna hear your memories of me,” Ging shouts. His head throbs. Pariston is still smiling and Ging feels sick, he feels dizzy, he takes another hit and tries to melt into nothing. Damn, it would be great to have an invisibility hatsu. But Pariston is still looking at him, giving him a dazzling smile as he perches his pretty little suit on the table. Ging clears his throat. “Getting comfortable?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston laughs. “In this dump? You must be joking.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He gestures to the room and Ging chuckles. This latest apartment </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> rather small and untidy. The wooden floors are almost grey with scuff marks. Furniture is scarce and shabby. His couch is up against a short wall with a cutout into the kitchen, and the living room is right in the pathway of the door. Pariston’s knees are only a few inches from his own now. Ging shrugs happily and eats a few bites of his omelet. “Dunno why you act like you’re better ‘n stuff,” he says through a full mouth, “but hey, this is pretty good. You poison it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing so crass,” Pariston murmurs. He pokes his fork at his own plate and smiles blankly. His voice perks up. “I have to wonder what you were imagining when you asked me to come over.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And I have to wonder what you were imagining when you came.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“When I came? Just that you wanted me to come!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You come when called, then?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I come when it’s you,” Pariston laughs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging smirks. “Oh, I know,” he jokes as he stubs out his joint. He finishes off his coffee and dives back into his food, suddenly starving. “You ever been down to this side of town?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course not!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course not,” Ging laughs. He leans over to place his plate on the table and freezes, discomforted by the way he has to lean over Pariston’s crossed legs to get to the surface. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston grins. “Can I help?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Ging grunts. He drops the plate down aggressively and opens a drawer under Pariston’s legs. “You mind?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, my apologies,” Pariston laughs. He moves his legs just enough to allow Ging access to the drawer, reaching into it at the same time. “What’s in this one, Ging?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop trying to touch me, Pares,” Ging teases.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging laughs. “Gotcha. You’re too easy sometimes, you know that, Pariston?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston pouts. “That’s not very nice!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, now you like it when I’m nice to you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ging, you’re capable of being nice?!”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, shut up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Does your little hovel have a shower?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You look rather... grimy,” Pariston says slowly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging shakes his head and chuckles. He can’t help it, Pariston just looks so earnest for once. “Why do you care?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose I don’t,” the blonde sighs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Heh.” Ging leans forwards until he’s a few inches from Pariston’s face. “You got a problem, Pares? Think I stink?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A bit,” Pariston teases. The heady musk of his rival’s smoke-stained sweat washes over his senses. He tilts a bit closer to Ging. He can smell the rich fat of the sausage cooling on his untouched plate. “You’re a terrible host, by the way.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’re a fuckin’ parasite,” Ging retorts. He stands up and stretches his arms over his head, yawning loudly as his ratty shirt crawls up his stomach. He can practically feel Pariston’s eyes on his skin. He smirks. “You really came over right after waking up, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You said you </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to see me, so I thought it would be impolite to keep you waiting,” Pariston says cheerfully.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What were you hoping would happen?” Ging drifts into the kitchen and pours himself another cup of coffee, wondering how long he can keep Pariston waiting around. They agreed six months ago that they wouldn’t do this again. Clearly Pariston never had any intention of sticking to that. Ging stares at his reflection in the coffee as he finds a hazy memory of the night before, when he was pulling away from a stranger’s soft mouth with Pariston in mind, and wonders if he ever intended to keep the boundary up himself. He groans quietly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I was just curious,” Pariston says nonchalantly. He gathers the plates and appears next to Ging in the kitchen, casually brushing by him to get to the sink. His sleeve catches on Ging’s shirt for a split second. The stiff polyester tugs at the soft cotton and both men tense slightly. Pariston hums as he turns away from the sink, noting with glee that Ging is still standing right next to him. He leans against the counter and smiles. “What were </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> hoping would happen when I came over, hmm?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing. I’m still hoping you’ll leave.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston’s smile grows wider as he watches Ging sip his coffee. “But you wanted me here for </span>
  <em>
    <span>something,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ging, you can’t deny that!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Probably just wanted to punch your smug face,” Ging grins. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oooh, playing rough,” Pariston teases. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You like that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t you know what I like?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Coming on strong today, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We have a meeting at noon,” Pariston murmurs, “I wouldn’t want to keep everyone waiting.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging chuckles. “You love showing up late.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> rather fun,” Pariston sighs. He slowly pushes one of his shiny leather brogues across the linoleum until it’s between the tips of Ging’s bare toes and smiles blithely. He can sense the unbelievable power radiating from the shorter man. His body aches to feel it turned against him. He hums thoughtfully. “What were you doing last night, Ging? Perhaps we could retrace your steps, discover what you may have been thinking of when you texted me!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> need to know where I’ve been,” Ging grunts. He leans back on the counter and crosses his arms, shuffling one leg out a few inches until the bones of their ankles are nearly touching. He casually shakes his leg to the side, letting the curly hairs on his shin brush against the hem of Pariston’s trousers, and smirks as the blonde tries not to react. “Besides, it doesn’t matter what I </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> thinking, it only matters what I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> thinking, and I’m thinking you need to get on the road,” Ging yawns around his coffee.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm! Well, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> been meaning to ask for your thoughts on the upcoming vote,” Pariston says cheerfully, “you know, about the way the Association teaches nen?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, shut up,” Ging yawns. “You don’t care about that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, but I do!” Pariston gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “The dissemination of such wisdom is </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> the type of issue that drove me into politics!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t do that shit here,” Ging snaps. He draws himself up and steps away from Pariston, glaring at the blonde. “C’mon, Pares, it’s too early for that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Too early for politics? What a life you live!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging scoffs and turns his annoyed glare to the exposed brick behind the fridge. “Ugh. Remind me to delete your number.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But if you do that, how will I know when you </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> to see me, Ging?” Pariston gives him a wan smile and cocks his head. His mind buzzes with excitement at the prospect of spending the day taunting each other, already churning through predictions of who will give in first and when. His smile grows wider as he watches Ging scratch his stomach. “Would you send me a letter? Perhaps a carrier pigeon? Throw rocks at my window?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“For someone who supposedly hates romance, you sure seem to love the idea of me trying to woo you,” Ging chuckles. He smirks up at Pariston and shrugs. “You think we’re a movie, Pares? That I’m gonna show up on your doorstep begging you to love me?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My goodness,” Pariston laughs, “Ging Freeccs, </span>
  <em>
    <span>begging</span>
  </em>
  <span> for something? Why, I’d assume you were being manipulated!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’d probably be right,” Ging grins. He yawns again and drifts back to the couch, flopping across the sagging cushions with a satisfied grunt. He closes his heavy lids and tucks his arms under his head as light footsteps follow after him. A car horn honks angrily outside. The footsteps stop beside the couch and Ging smirks without opening his eyes. “C’mon, Pares, it’s not happening, alright? Just go home,” he mumbles.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston smiles down at the brunette’s lazy sprawl. “And here I thought we were having a conversation,” he laughs softly. “What are you referring to, Ging? What’s not happening?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not gonna fuck you, and I’m not gonna play this game all day,” Ging yawns. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>goodness, </span>
  </em>
  <span>how </span>
  <em>
    <span>vulgar,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Pariston gasps playfully. “What makes you think I would want that? You still haven’t showered,” he teases. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging smirks. His high is hitting the perfect peak right now, layering a thick blanket of fuzz over his thoughts as he sinks a bit deeper into the couch.“So you’d want it if I showered?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm, don’t flatter yourself, Ging!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just teasing you, Pares, I know I’m a little </span>
  <em>
    <span>young</span>
  </em>
  <span> for your tastes,” Ging shoots back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston stiffens slightly, his smile taking on a new sharpness under this particular line of teasing. Of course, nothing has ever been off limits in their taunts, but Ging’s insistence on making a sexual joke out of his relationship with the Chairman has always rubbed him the wrong way. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Really,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ging,” he sighs, “you’re back on that little fantasy of yours again?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging scoffs and cracks an eye open. He’s delighted to see the tension in the blonde’s jaw, the easy win energizing him enough to sit up slightly and grin at him. “You’re the one who picks up his calls no matter </span>
  <em>
    <span>what’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> happening,” he teases.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> time, it’s hardly indicative of a pattern,” Pariston laughs awkwardly. He straightens his jacket and beams down at Ging. “But what made you think of </span>
  <em>
    <span>that,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ging? Still thinking of, hmm, your suggestion?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My suggestion? You mean when I said I </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> gonna fuck you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> the first to bring it up,” Pariston reminds him cheerfully. He perches neatly on the table and crosses his legs, smiling at the other man. The smirk he receives in return is electrifying. Ging leans forward on his knees and Pariston hums softly, cocking his head. “What’s that look, Ging?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just remembering something,” Ging murmurs. The memory is a tantalizing lie, a brief flash of long-gone fondness, and he should know better than to be enticed by it, but it still manages to strike a chord. He leans a bit closer, amused to see Pariston swaying towards him. “Move your legs. You’re blocking the remote,” he whispers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston’s eyebrows droop slightly as he inches his legs to the side. He watches Ging reach into the drawer and pull out the remote, though he doesn’t bother turning his head to look at the television. A muffled conversation plays behind him. He smiles. “Mind if I put my legs back?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t care where you put your legs,” Ging grunts. He snatches a cigarette out of the drawer and leans back, lighting it with a quick flick of his wrist. He keeps it in his mouth as he tosses the match over his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston grins and stretches his legs up with a dramatic groan, placing them on the couch beside Ging. He leans back on the table and grins. “This alright, then?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine with me, but take your shoes off,” Ging chuckles. He tugs Pariston’s buckles and slips one of his shiny loafers off, chucking it to the floor as he puffs his cigarette. He pauses as he reaches for the other shoe. “Wait—“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can do it,” Pariston says cheerfully. He pulls his shoe off and places it neatly on the floor, crossing his ankles as he smiles at Ging. “What are we watching, Ging?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging scoffs and leans back. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“We</span>
  </em>
  <span> aren’t watching anything, Pariston. You should put your shoes back on.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> had me take them off!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well—I—shouldn’t have done that,” Ging mutters. He stubs out his cigarette with a frustrated groan and stands up. “I’ll be right back.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston laughs as he watches Ging duck back into the bedroom. “Are you running away again, Ging?” The answer comes in the form of water rushing through the pipes overhead. Pariston’s hand flies to his mouth. “Oh? Interesting,” he whispers to himself. He stands up and places his shoes by the front door, carefully tiptoeing over to the bedroom. He can hear Ging humming under the shower. Pariston slowly turns the doorknob and steps into the bedroom, inhaling sharply as he notices the bathroom door is wide open. He averts his eyes and strides over to the bed. Ging’s sheets and blankets are a tangled mess, twisting a strange shape along the mattress where he must’ve slept. Pariston gingerly removes his blazer and drapes it across the back of a wooden chair by the window. He undoes his tie and crosses the room again, perching nervously on the edge of the mattress. He kicks himself as he catches his reflection in the window. This is rather desperate of him, far more forward than he’s usually comfortable being. It’s just been so long—but that’s no excuse. He hops up again and snatches his tie off the chair. Pariston is just retying the knot when the shower turns off. He jumps and turns around.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, whoa,” Ging says awkwardly. He stands in the doorway, one arm clutching a towel around his waist and the other frozen halfway to his head. Water dribbles down his tanned neck and rolls across firm muscles. He lowers his hand and tugs the towel a bit tighter. “Pares, I—“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m actually putting the tie </span>
  <em>
    <span>on,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you see,” Pariston interrupts, “and look, I’m—taking my jacket—“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging runs his hand down his face with a quiet sigh. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> off your game today, you know that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe I’m just playing a new one,” Pariston says. His words come out stilted and pathetic. He can’t seem to tear his eyes away from Ging’s dripping body. It’s been over a year since he’s seen him shirtless, probably even longer since he’s seen so much of his thighs. His palms sweat slightly as he clenches his fists around his loose tie. He forces his wandering gaze back up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re breaking a lotta rules right now,” Ging replies quietly. He steps towards his closet without breaking eye contact. “And keep your eyes to yourself, pervert,” he teases in a low voice. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston laughs, relaxing his grip on his tie. “Oh, Ging,” he says in a sing-song, “you and your little fantasies!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Pares?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mhm?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wanna do me a favor?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose I could!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging smirks. “Sit down, shut up, and close your eyes. Think you can do that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds fairly easy,” Pariston laughs. He perches on the edge of the bed again, humming to himself as he closes his eyes. He hears the towel hit the floor and grins. The closet door creaks open and Ging whistles lazily, rummaging through a few drawers before his footsteps cross the room. Pariston tilts his chin up without opening his eyes. “Hmm?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t trust you to keep your eyes closed,” Ging murmurs. His hands brush through Pariston’s hair and the blonde shivers, leaning into the soft fabric crossing his face. Ging ties a knot at the back of Pariston’s head and steps back. He smirks and palms his half-hard cock, rubbing himself slowly as he watches Pariston straighten his back. “Gimme one of your hands.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston grins as he reaches an arm out. “Ging, what are you doing?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Ging says blithely. He clicks a handcuff shut around Pariston’s wrist and yanks his arm, quickly cuffing both wrists behind his back. Pariston inhales sharply and Ging chuckles. He leans closer, letting his whisper disturb a few strands of blonde that hang over Pariston’s ear. “This what you were hoping for, Pares?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It didn’t seem outside the realm of possibility,” Pariston giggles. He tilts his head almost involuntarily as Ging’s hot breath travels down his neck. “Though I know you’re just trying to rile me up right now,” he adds confidently.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm, might be,” Ging murmurs. He steps back and yawns loudly. “Damn, maybe I should go back to bed,” he teases.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Rest is </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> important,” Pariston laughs. A firm rubber lump presses his thighs apart and he gasps. “Oh! Well, that’s certainly an option!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging snorts derisively and flicks the vibrator on, chuckling as Pariston tries to contain his reaction. “I’m still not gonna fuck you,” he taunts him, “I just think it’ll be funny if I make you show up to the meeting with jizz in your pants.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Unh!” Pariston’s hips jerk up and he forces them back, struggling to maintain his grin. “I, gosh, Ging,” he gasps, “you, you’re quite a pervert some, ah, sometimes, you know?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not the one lurking in people’s bedrooms while they shower,” Ging snorts. He rolls the toy up and grins as Pariston’s back arches slightly, slowly dragging it back down the zipper of his neatly pressed trousers. “I shouldn’t have texted you,” he grunts, “this is a terrible fucking idea.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm, mhm,” Pariston nods vaguely. He tangles his fingers behind his back, clutching them tightly in an attempt to keep the rest of his body still. The vibrator presses into him a bit harder and a small whimper escapes his nose. “I, I didn’t expect you, mmph, to, to break so soon,” he says shakily, “you, ah, you said I, was off my game, Ging, but, but look at you! Ah!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging chuckles and pushes the vibrator up and down again, leaning a hand on the bed as Pariston grinds into it. He nips at the blonde’s ear. “Yeah, I guess I’m being an idiot,” he growls softly, “but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> thinking of you last night.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Unh, unh, G-Ging, you, Ging, you, you—“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t quite hear ya, Pares,” Ging teases, “maybe speak up?” He flicks the vibrator higher and laughs as Pariston falls back to the bed with a sharp cry. “Oooh, sorry, what were you saying?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston gasps vaguely as he struggles to still his hips again, not wanting to give in to the pleasure so easily. The vibrations rumbling through his trapped cock refuse to give him a moment to think. He bucks his hips up again and hisses quietly, jerking them back to the bed. “I, I know what you’re doing, of course,” he gasps, “and it’s, ah, it’s not going to—oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>damn</span>
  </em>
  <span> you!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging laughs as he holds the vibrator away from the bed. “We still have, what, another hour?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’ll take thirty minutes to get back uptown,” Pariston pants. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good point, I guess we have thirty minutes, then,” Ging chuckles. He presses the vibrator to the bulge in Pariston’s pants without turning it on. “I should probably get dressed, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston wriggles his cuffed arms and sits up. “My, my, still nude, Ging? How unlike you,” he teases. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You want me to take that blindfold off?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s too bad,” Ging snickers. He turns the vibrator back on and rubs it into the blonde aggressively. “Wanna see if you can finish twice in thirty minutes?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I, oh, god, Ging,” Pariston whines. His legs tremble and he falls back again, panting heavily. “You, you can’t be—oh, ah—serious,” he gasps as his hips buck involuntarily. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging laughs again and flicks the vibrator up another setting. Pariston arches off the bed with a strangled noise and he grins. He starts rocking the toy faster. “You close, Pares? Your cock’s leaking through your pants.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“G-Ging, ah—AH, mmhm, mmph!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“C’mon, you look desperate, let it happen, you know you want to,” Ging teases, lowering his voice as he leans into Pariston’s ear.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston whimpers and thrusts into the vibrations clumsily, spreading his legs wider as Ging laughs. Each desperate jerk of his hips rolls his trapped arms awkwardly and he bites his lip as he tries to use them to push off the bed. Ging presses the vibrator into the tip of his cock and he cries out before he can bite it back. “UGH, GING!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Gotta admit, I love when you say my name like that,” Ging growls softly, “and you sure look good like this, trying so hard to earn a real fuck.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ohhh, oh, oh, oh god,” Pariston whines. He can’t find a single coherent thought beyond the overwhelming sensations rumbling through his body. His toes curl as he feels his orgasm building under his stomach and his mouth falls open, panting hungrily while he grinds up into the toy. He writhes vaguely against the sheets. “G-Ging, Ging, yes, yes,” he moans breathlessly, “oh, just, l-like that, AH, AHA, OHHH, oh, mmph!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging grunts and slides his mouth down Pariston’s neck, yanking his buttons open to leave a dark bruise just above his collarbone. Pariston shudders violently as his lips suck another hickey onto his chest. Ging grins and kisses his neck hungrily. “C’mon, Pariston, say my name when you cum, sweetheart, yeah, lemme hear you,” he purrs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ohh, Giiiing,” Pariston cries. His body jerks senselessly as his cock spasms and spurts ribbons of hot cum into his briefs. He whimpers vaguely at the feeling of it soaking the fabric and sticking to his skin. The vibrations slow and pull back slightly, granting a moment’s relief, but they don’t stop, still sending tremors through his body as his nerves burn with sensitivity. “Mm, mm-mm, mm-mm,” he whines, shaking his head vigorously.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, I’m not done yet,” Ging murmurs playfully, “I wanna see that again, that was really hot.” He bites down on Pariston’s earlobe as the blonde whines in protest, grinding the vibrator into his softening cock until it hardens once more. Pariston whimpers and tries to writhe away from him. Ging just chuckles and leans on his thigh, pressing his legs apart as he rocks the toy against his zipper. “We really shouldn’t be doing this, though, I wouldn’t want anyone to notice how worked up you are at the meeting, Pares,” he teases in a low voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“G-Ging, oh, goodness,” Pariston gasps, “my, m-my god, G-Ging, I can’t, I, I—MMM!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure you can, sweetheart, I’ve seen you do it before,” Ging chuckles. He moves the vibrator faster and presses down harder, wrapping a hand around Pariston’s neck as the blonde moans. “This help, Pares? Maybe you need a cock to suck on?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston shakes his head wildly as the stimulation intensifies, letting out a string of high-pitched grunts. He refuses to open his mouth. Ging’s strong hand wraps tighter around his throat and he moans, rocking his hips up into the toy. “MMMUUNNGHH!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, there you go,” Ging chuckles, “you look like a mess, Pares, you’re sweating through your shirt! C’mon, try harder, we gotta go in ten minutes.” He leans his weight on Pariston’s neck as the blonde bucks into the vibrator, hovering a few inches from his gasping lips. “Dammit,” he mutters. Panicked sirens go off at the back of his mind but he can’t seem to stop himself as he bends lower, cursing his smoke-addled brain for smothering his inhibitions with lust. Their lips brush together and he pulls the vibrator up to torture the tip of Pariston’s cock. The blonde’s mouth falls open and Ging falls into it, letting go of his neck to grab a fistful of his hair as he kisses him. Pariston moans and writhes underneath him. Ging rips his mouth away and spits into Pariston’s gaping throat. “Fucker,” he mumbles as the blonde whines, “that’s all you’re getting, Pariston, don’t think you can trick me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ahhh, aha, oh, G-Ging,” Pariston gasps, “Ging, you, you want this m-more than I DO, mmMM!” He twists his cuffed arms with a low whine and grinds into the vibrator as it slides back down his cock, losing his train of thought in the relentless pulsing. “Nnngh, G-Ging,” he moans vaguely. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging grunts and shoves up from the bed, rubbing the toy against Pariston more aggressively as he takes to his feet. He strokes a hand down his throbbing cock and curses under his breath. He’s still trying to tell himself he’s only doing this to embarrass Pariston, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>god,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the blonde looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>delicious</span>
  </em>
  <span> losing control like this. He lets out a frustrated huff and clicks the vibrator lower, pushing it against Pariston’s inner thigh as the tall man collapses into the bed with a shuddering moan. “You don’t want it, then? Want me to stop?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Please, don’t—G-Ging,” Pariston whimpers. He gulps down a deep breath and plasters a grin back onto his flushed face. “I, I don’t particularly c-care, I suppose,” he pants, “I have to, uh, assume, that you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> tormenting </span>
  <em>
    <span>yourself</span>
  </em>
  <span> right now, aren’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> “Oh, I’m just fine,” Ging chuckles drily. He lets go of himself and slowly presses the vibrator low between Pariston’s legs, shaking his head in amusement as the blonde jerks up and bites back a low moan. “Your clothes are all wrinkled,” he teases, “you’re moving around too much, Pares, you want everyone to know how much you like cumming with your clothes on?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston’s giggle turns into a sharp cry as Ging turns the vibrations higher again. He bucks his hips up over and over, no longer bothered by the way the toy is grinding the mess of his spunk into his skin. His crotch is damp and sticky and throbbing, the muscles in his thighs twitching senselessly as he chases his release. The vibrator presses into his leaking tip and his eyes roll under the blindfold. “PLEASE!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Aww, so polite,” Ging murmurs, “maybe I’ll even let you clean up, huh?” He leans over and gently kisses the blonde’s sweaty neck, grunting in shock as his head jerks towards him. Pariston gasps vaguely and Ging smirks. “Want something, Pariston?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nnnghh, ah, aha, ohhh,” Pariston moans. He blindly reaches his head towards the scratchy feeling of Ging’s scruff against his skin, opening and closing his mouth desperately. “G-Ging,” he manages, “oh god, I—MMPH, YES, GING!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging grins as Pariston’s head slams back against the sheets again and his spine arches, rubbing the vibrator faster between his legs. Pariston whines and grinds senselessly into the toy. Ging yanks his jaw to the side and kisses him again, letting an eager groan slip into his mouth with his tongue. The blonde whimpers and bucks harder. Ging pulls back and nips Pariston’s jaw, trailing his wet mouth down his neck as he cradles the back of his head. “Fuck, you look good,” he mumbles, “goddammit, Pares, why’d you have to come over?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“UUNNGH, AAAH, AH AH, MMMAHHH!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah? Gonna cum again?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“YES, YES!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmm, I dunno,” Ging says thoughtfully. He rips the vibrator away from Pariston’s body and holds it in the air, laughing meanly as the blonde shrieks in frustration. “Why should I—“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll swallow, I, I’ll—please, Ging, I’ll—I’ll do whatever you want, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I, I’m so—please!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging bursts out laughing and playfully pats Pariston’s cheek. “Cute. You think I’m gonna let you suck me off, then?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm, aha,” Pariston laughs breathlessly, “what else do you plan to do with that </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> you’re grinding into my thigh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, shit, you noticed,” Ging mutters. He glances down and curses under his breath as he realizes he has indeed been grinding against Pariston’s trembling legs. A shiny bead of precum rolls off his tip and drips onto the blonde’s bright pink trousers. He sighs. “We don’t really have time, Pariston, we’ll be late if we don’t get outta here in the next five minutes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston grins. “But is that </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> a problem, Ging? Are you afraid to show up together?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, just thinking I might wanna give Cheadle a break from my bullshit this week,” Ging chuckles. He leans down and pulls a few more of Pariston’s buttons apart, sucking a pert nipple between his lips. “Mmm, how ya feeling, sweetheart?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You, you only call me that when you’re in a good mood,” Pariston breathes, “you must have something in mind for later, then.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging chuckles darkly and switches the vibrator back on as he moves to the other nipple, wrapping his hand around Pariston’s neck as he shifts his weight. “Keep dreaming, Pariston, I just like seeing you twitch whenever I say it,” he teases in a low voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmmnngh, Ging,” Pariston whines. His toes curl and he jerks his legs wider, thrusting up against the vibrator as fast as he can. He groans loudly as teeth tug at his nipple. “GING!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah? Gonna come for me again?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“UNH, UNH MMPH,” Pariston moans as the grip around his throat tightens. Ging’s weight shifts again and the blonde gasps as his legs wrap around his sides, bucking up into the shorter man’s body as it rests on his stomach. The vibrator rolls aggressively along the length of his cock. He clenches his teeth and arches his head back, whining desperately as Ging grinds into his chest. “NNMMMGHH!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging chokes Pariston tighter and grunts as he rocks his hips, trying to focus on moving the vibrator instead of how good the blonde’s writhing feels on his throbbing cock. “C’mon, Pares, c’mon,” he grunts, “yeah, you love this, don’t you? Love when I give you what you want?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“GIMPH, MMPHBNNH!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck,” Ging groans as Pariston bucks into the air. He releases his throat and leans back on the vibrator, digging it into Pariston’s zipper as he feels his legs shake. The blonde whines loudly and jerks his head around blindly. Ging strokes himself furiously as his mouth falls open with a hungry gasp. “Yeah? Yeah, Pares? Fuck, god!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“AHHH, AHAHA, GIIIING,” Pariston cries, the words blurring into a breathless laugh as the tremors rocking his body force another orgasm loose, each clumsy jolt of his hips sending a hot spurt of cum into his soaking briefs. His voice fades to a whimper as his cock finishes its spasms and he flails his head to the side. “G-Ging, please,” he gasps, “I can’t—“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Ging grunts vaguely. He drops the toy and slams a hand down on Pariston’s chest, shoving his unbuttoned shirt a bit wider as he jerks himself off. “Goddammit, fuck you,” he hisses, “stupid fucking, goddamn, FUCK!” He doubles over with a low groan and squeezes his knees tighter around Pariston’s waist as he finishes, gasping another quiet curse while he paints the blonde’s chest with streaks of white. His rocking hips slow and he sits back heavily, panting as he tries to recover. “Goddammit,” he groans again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmmph, my goodness,” Pariston mumbles. He rolls his neck again, turning his trembling lips up to the ceiling. “Aha, oh, Ging,” he teases after a few raspy breaths, “you’ve made quite a mess of things, haven’t you? How wasteful!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Argh, this was such a mistake,” Ging moans. He slides off of Pariston’s body and stumbles to the bathroom, quickly wiping himself clean before he returns to his closet. “You’re a fucking plague, you know that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston laughs and wriggles his aching shoulders awkwardly. He clears his throat as he hears Ging muttering to himself. “Um, Ging?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, lemme get dressed, asshole,” Ging grunts. He tugs a shirt on and scowls at his reflection, mashing a hat down over the disaster of his still-damp hair. “Fuck,” he whispers to himself, “you’re really doing this shit again, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This is—this is rather uncomfortable,” Pariston remarks from the bed. He kicks his heels against the edge of the mattress with a sigh. “Will I have time to clean up, or—“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope, you’re just gonna button up that shirt and put on a smile, sweetheart,” Ging chuckles. He finishes tying his belt and turns to look at Pariston, grinning at the wet stain spreading across his crotch. “God, you look like a whore, Pares, I wonder what the chairman would say.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’d say you should pay me if that’s what I look like,” Pariston laughs. He hums as Ging’s footsteps cross towards him and strong hands tug his shoulders up. “Mmm, that’s better,” he murmurs as the handcuffs slide off. He rotates his shoulders slowly, rubbing the sore spots on his wrists as Ging’s hands slide up his arms. He grins when the other man gently squeezes his shoulders. “Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>caressing</span>
  </em>
  <span> me, Ging?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging snorts and pulls his hands back, glad the blindfold is keeping Pariston from seeing the blush climbing his cheeks. “Just making sure you didn’t dislocate anything, asshole, you were writhing around a lot,” he grunts. He tugs Pariston’s shirt playfully and smirks. “Button up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Still blindfolded? That’s a bit rude,” Pariston pouts. His fingers fly nimbly up his buttons and he straightens his collar, making a disgusted face at the feeling of Ging’s cum sticking to his shirt. “Ugh. This is revolting,” he whines. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m sure,” Ging chuckles. He grabs Pariston’s tie and loops it around his neck, tucking it neatly under his collar as the blonde grins at him. “Think you can do that blindfolded?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm, I know I can, but are you asking if you can do it for me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ha! Want me to dress you up, Pares?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not sure I trust you to know how to tie a tie,” Pariston giggles. He squeaks slightly as his collar is yanked forwards. “Hmm?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I should really stop encouraging you,” Ging murmurs. He kisses Pariston anyways, slowly parting his lips around the blonde’s amused smirk. His fingers flip the tie into a quick knot and he gives it a short tug as he pulls back. “And I probably shouldn’t have gotten so goddamn stoned, that might be why I’m being such a fucking moron,” he mutters.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston laughs and clutches the edge of the mattress, leaning towards Ging’s warmth. His legs are still trembling slightly. “Hmm, can I take the blindfold off, or do you need some time to spiral in private?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck you,” Ging snorts. He snatches the strip of fabric from Pariston’s head and tosses it over his shoulder, folding his arms as the blonde blinks dizzily. “We should go. We’re gonna be late.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve never known you to be so concerned with punctuality, Ging,” Pariston teases. He hops up and staggers across the room, shrugging his blazer on as he heads for the door. He glances over his shoulder and grins. “Split a cab?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ging groans and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Guess I don’t have a choice, do I?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s always a choice, Ging,” Pariston says softly, “but if it’s easier to keep pretending, be my guest. I don’t mind being the bad guy.” He glides across the apartment and slips into his shoes, pausing by the front door to look back at Ging. “All I did was show up for breakfast,” he teases.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Ging mutters under his breath. He grabs a few things and traipses after Pariston, wondering why they both gave in so quickly this morning. Maybe it’s time he disappears again. But then he hears Pariston’s lilting laugh as he calls a cab and his stomach turns over as he remembers a long-gone night when they snuck away from a gala with a few bottles of champagne, grinding his teeth in frustration at the unwanted memory of Pariston’s giddy laughter in the moonlit garden. “Dammit,” he hisses to himself, “c’mon, man, you’re better than this.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston smiles blithely at his phone as they stand outside Ging’s apartment, humming quietly while he shoots off a few emails. He resists the urge to scratch his chest. The cab pulls up and he waves Ging in. “So glad I always have a change of clothes in my office,” he laughs congenially.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Heh. I’ll tell Mizai where you keep your little stash if you change outta this suit,” Ging chuckles. He yawns and spreads out across the backseat, draping his legs on Pariston’s lap to dig his heels into the damp spot between his legs. “Think anyone’ll notice?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Gee, it’s hard to say,” Pariston sighs. He drums his fingers on Ging’s knee and gives him a playful grin. “They’re not the most observant bunch,” he whispers as he slides his hand a bit higher.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No touching,” Ging grunts. He smirks as the blonde rolls his eyes. “Maybe I’ll let you change after all, give myself time to show up on my own,” he says thoughtfully.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pariston laughs. “It’s not as though this is the first time we’ve ever arrived together,” he teases.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> the </span>
  <em>
    <span>last</span>
  </em>
  <span> time, though,” Ging says firmly. He jumps as Pariston squeezes his shin. “Hey!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll see,” Pariston hums cheerfully. He pulls his phone out again and flicks through it, ignoring Ging for the rest of the ride. The ruins hunter just rolls his eyes and sinks lower, catching a few moments of shuteye as they drive. The cab jerks to a stop in front of the Association building and he sighs as he sits up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, let’s get this over with.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Officially</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ging and Pariston disrupt the Zodiac meeting.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ging stifles yet another yawn and swings his hips, rolling his chair from side to side as Botobai rambles. The meeting is already an hour over the allotted time and nothing’s been decided. He sighs and picks at his nails. Pariston laughs brightly and cuts in, talking over the eldest zodiac as though he didn’t realize he was still speaking. Ging rolls his eyes and tunes back out. If he looks closely at Pariston’s shirt, he can still see a bit of dried cum stuck to one of the buttons. The blonde has his chair pulled right up to the edge of the table, his legs tucked neatly where nobody can see. Ging wonders how he can manage to sit still with three loads drying under his visibly wrinkled suit. He smiles to himself and sways his chair around again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop that,” Cheadle whispers. She shoots him a glare and then smoothes her face, looking attentively up at Pariston.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Ging grunts. He pulls himself up and sighs quietly. The whole discussion is just stupid. The Zodiacs will never vote to allow non-Hunters to learn nen, so he’s not sure why they’re even bothering to argue about it. Only he, Pariston, and Gel think the general public should be made aware of the existence of auras. He leans over to Cheadle and doodles a quick frowny face in her notebook. She glares at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ging,” she hisses, “are you even paying attention? Pariston is speaking, you know. He’s been in an </span>
  <em>
    <span>atrocious</span>
  </em>
  <span> mood today. Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>creepy.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nope, not really,” Ging yawns. He grins at the anger that flashes across his colleague’s face and leans back in his chair. “Hey, Pariston, mind if I interrupt?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You already have,” Pariston hums. He uncrosses his legs and crosses them again, the sound of Ging’s voice making him uncomfortably self-aware.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cool. Well, I think you’re all being cowards, honestly, it’s not like we’re even bothering to punish criminals or rogue teachers,” he shrugs. “Not that we </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> do that. Just saying, nobody seems all that invested in </span>
  <em>
    <span>enforcing</span>
  </em>
  <span> the rule, so why do we even have it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re an idiot,” Saiyuu sighs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Completely,” Piyon agrees. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you’d been </span>
  <em>
    <span>listening,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ging,” Pariston says happily, “you’d realize that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> the point I was just making! And while I hate to agree with you, you’re certainly right!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ging smirks and leans back in his chair. “Whatever. So, is anyone interested in being the nen police, or are we just gonna talk in circles? I have things I wanna do today,” he chuckles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cheadle lets out an exasperated sigh and knits her fingers together. “I’ll never understand why the Chairman wanted to include you,” she sighs, “but that’s besides the point. Mizaistom, I believe you had something to say on the matter?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ging,” Pariston interrupts, “haven’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> taught nen to individuals without Hunter’s Licenses?” He leans forward on folded hands and grins. The rest of the group turns to Ging in shock. The ruins hunter groans. This isn’t how he would’ve shared that information.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not—not exactly,” he mutters, “and they did get licenses eventually, it was just—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You gotta be kidding me,” Saiyuu groans.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ging,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Cheadle hisses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ging shrugs awkwardly. “Um. Needed a few more people for part of the game, so...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god,” Piyon groans.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kanzai scowls at him. “Seriously?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And where did you find them, Ging?” Pariston’s smile grows wider as he leans a bit closer. His skin prickles with excitement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ging glowers at him from under his hat. He sighs. “Might’ve been prison,” he mumbles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The table erupts in horror and outrage, everyone shouting over each other as Ging shrinks into his chair and Pariston hums in amusement. Cheadle slams a fist on the table and jumps up. “EVERYONE, SIT DOWN! Ging, you said they eventually became Hunters, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right,” he grunts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then it’s settled,” Cheadle says primly, “technically, you abided by the guidelines, even if you did things a bit backwards.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kanzai growls. “You kiddin’ me? The asshole taught nen to </span>
  <em>
    <span>criminals,</span>
  </em>
  <span> for God’s sakes!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Some of them were wrongfully imprisoned,” Ging shoots back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cluck scoffs. “Some?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Ging says lamely. Pariston’s shoe catches on his baggy pants and he jumps back from the table before he can stop himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Which raises another question,” the blonde butts in, “don’t you think the requirements for becoming a Hunter are a bit </span>
  <em>
    <span>loose,</span>
  </em>
  <span> everyone?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cheadle tenses. “Pariston—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re not discussing that right now,” Mizaistom barks. He turns back to Ging and points an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t do that again, Mr. Freeccs, or I’ll have to take you in,” he threatens.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ging swallows a smirk and nods obediently. “By the way, though, why do we let the Zoldycks teach it internally, huh? Should we really have that kind of deal with an infamous family of assassins?” The table erupts into shouts again and he buries his grin in his scarf. Nothing like tossing out the Zoldyck name to bring a meeting to a screeching halt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mizai pounds on the table loudly and gestures for everyone to settle down. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“That</span>
  </em>
  <span> is a separate matter entirely, and you know it,” he says firmly. He sits back down, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t see this getting anywhere. Cheadle?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I—oh,” she stammers. She sits down slowly and sighs. “I... perhaps we should break for lunch?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As soon as the word “break” passes her lips, Ging is out of his chair and across the room, ducking against the walls on his way to his long-neglected office. He can hear Cheadle calling after him but ignores it. He bursts into the room Netero assigned him years earlier and flings himself across the plush leather couch, coughing slightly as it sends up a cloud of dust. The joint is out of his pocket and in his mouth in seconds. He takes a slow drag and checks his phone, trying to decide if he should go somewhere for lunch or just order food to the building. It’s not like he’s gonna go back to the meeting, but staying on this couch seems like the most enticing plan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few quick raps beat against the door and Ging groans, forcing himself up. He blows a cloud of smoke towards the door and sighs. “Lemme guess. Pariston?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um, no,” Cheadle squeaks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ging curses and stubs the joint out, scrambling wildly as he leaps from the couch. He flings the door open and blocks the entrance. “What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just—“ Cheadle’s nose wrinkles and she recoils slightly. “Ging, were you—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whaddya want, Cheadle?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sighs as she pinches the bridge of her nose. “You are incorrigible,” she mutters. She adjusts her glasses and frowns up at Ging. “But I am curious, Ging, why are you interested in reforming the nen policy when your own game requires a Hunter’s License?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good question,” Ging concedes, “but it doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> require a license, it’s just that the only information on it is available through the Hunter website. And it costs a few billion jenny. And you need nen to play. Well, you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be Hunter. But... that’s a separate thing.” He shrugs at her and shoves his hands deeper in his pockets. “I just think it’s bullshit that the Association hides nen away like we do, there are tons of applications outside the realm of hunting that our people might never think of,” he says thoughtfully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmmph.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? You know I’m right,” Ging grunts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cheadle sighs and folds her arms across her chest. “Yes, unfortunately, I can see your point. I still think it’s too dangerous, though,” she says firmly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you would,” Ging shrugs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cheadle stiffens. “Hmmph!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look, the fact that Pariston is so into the idea definitely gives me pause. But it’s not like you need my vote to keep things the way they are,” Ging sighs, “and I’m sure the old man would veto it anyways if the council somehow agreed to change things.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s true,” Cheadle says slowly. She shakes her head vaguely and stares at the floor for a moment. “Well, I’ll leave you to it then,” she sighs, “I suppose you won’t be joining us after lunch?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ging grins. “Probably not. Sorry, pups.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then Pariston won’t be there, either,” Cheadle murmurs thoughtfully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Panic shoots through Ging’s body like an electric shock. He forces his grin wider. “Huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you really think I’m that stupid, Ging? It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>painfully</span>
  </em>
  <span> obvious you two are back... doing... whatever it is you do together,” Cheadle sniffs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t—we don’t—hold on,” Ging stammers as his phone rings. He answers it without looking, grateful to tear his eyes away from Cheadle. “Hey.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Helllooooo,” Pariston sings. “Ging, it seems a package for you was mistakenly delivered to my office! I have it here on my desk if you’d like to pick it up!” The phone clicks before Ging can argue. He turns to face Cheadle slowly, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels. She raises her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um,” Ging mumbles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As I said,” Cheadle says primly, “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> stupid.” She turns on her heel and glides away down the hall, leaving Ging to slam his face into the doorframe. He curses loudly and drifts back to the couch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The phone rings again after a few minutes. Ging snatches it up as he takes a hit of his joint. “What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> still in the building, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ging rolls his eyes. “Maybe, maybe not. It’s none of your business, Pares,” he grumbles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pariston laughs brightly. “Would you like me to bring the package down to your office, then?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The—oh, cut the crap, Pariston, we both know there’s no goddamn package,” Ging groans. He takes a long hit and sighs as he exhales, leaning back to stare at the ceiling. “Look—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m being serious, someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> send me a package with your name on it,” Pariston titters. He strokes his thumb over the edge of the cardboard box on his desk, smirking to himself. Of course, the package itself is real, but Ging doesn’t need to know that Pariston had the mailroom transfer all Ging-related deliveries up to his office some time ago. It just so happens this is the first time someone has sent Ging mail.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ging frowns. “Huh. That’s weird. Who’s it from?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The return address is just a bunch of shapes,” Pariston shrugs, “mostly stars and circles.” He squints at the package again, wondering what on earth he’s just taken into his office. Ging curses loudly in his ear and he grins. “What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fucking hell, I’ll be up in a sec,” Ging grunts. He hangs up and groans angrily, stubbing the joint back out as he drags himself from the couch. “Goddammit, he knows better than to send that shit here,” he hisses as he stumbles towards the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The elevator dings and Ging shoves through the crowded hall, flinging the antique oak doors on Pariston’s office wide open. “Hey. Gimme that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s all yours, Ging,” Pariston says playfully. He beams as the ruins hunter crosses the room, smoothing his tie down the front of his fresh shirt. The new suit is a dark blue check. If Ging notices, he doesn’t say anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Ging grunts, swiping the package off Pariston’s desk as quickly as he can before turning on his heels and storming back towards the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ging?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ging grunts and glances over his shoulder. “What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you have lunch plans?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You askin’ me on a date?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pariston laughs loudly and folds his hands under his chin. “Hardly! I just haven’t decided what I want to eat, so I’m asking around,” he says cheerfully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ging rolls his eyes. “Don’t be an ass, Pariston, I know you don’t eat lunch,” he chuckles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I’ve changed,” Pariston laughs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, right,” Ging snorts. He starts towards the door and then pauses, slowly turning around in spite of the voice at the back of his mind screaming that he needs to leave. “Although, I guess you did. I liked the pink,” he says, lowering his voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pariston grins and does a lazy spin in his chair. “How sweet of you to notice,” he teases. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s all, though. See ya,” Ging shrugs. He makes his way to the door slowly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ging,” Pariston says softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He glances over his shoulder. “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why not?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pariston smiles. “Why not stay? I don’t mind having you here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ohhhhkay,” Ging sighs. He shoves the package into one of his pockets and crosses his arms, staring at the floor. “Look, Pariston—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you think we’ve had enough fun for one day?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pariston cocks his head. His smile grows a bit wider. “So you had fun?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well—I—“ Ging grunts, awkwardly scratching his beard as he feels his cheeks flush. He can’t deny he spent most of the meeting thinking about the remains of their morning drying under Pariston’s clothes and whether the blonde was similarly preoccupied. His eyes flick up and he shrugs. “With you? Bit hard not to,” he murmurs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Ging chuckles darkly. He strides across the room and slaps his hands down on Pariston’s desk, grinning at him. “I called you </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Pares, that should be enough to get you through the week, right?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pariston beams at him. “It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> rather flattering,” he titters. He leans forward, raising his eyebrows playfully. “But have I disappointed you by changing my clothes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mr. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ging?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Little bit,” Ging shrugs, “but if you’re trying to make up for it with formalities, you should know better.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmm? Oh, does ‘mister’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>bother</span>
  </em>
  <span> you? I had no idea!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ging smirks. “You used to be better at pissing me off,” he teases.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How cruel,” Pariston gasps. His smile only gets bigger. “You’d prefer if I was meaner, then, Mr. Ging?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d prefer nothing to do with you,” Ging chuckles. Their faces are only a few inches apart above the desk. He can </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> Pariston, though, feel the promise of chaos under that broad smile and the frustration rippling through the blonde’s veins. He grins. It’s hard to admit, even in his own thoughts, but there’s nobody who brings out this side of him quite like Pariston. He’s still not sure he likes this side of himself. But it’s the side that seems to be taking control today. He cocks his head at the blonde. “When did you have my mail redirected to your office?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A tiny twitch in Pariston’s eye gives him away and he bursts out laughing, leaning back in his chair. “Ages ago,” he admits, “but nobody ever sends you anything!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, my friends know better,” Ging laughs. He scratches his chin and stands up. “So elaborate, Pares, you really wanted me up here that bad?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s a lot of things one can do with another person’s mail,” Pariston hums.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Creep.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pariston leans forward again. “Ging, might I ask what had you so distracted in that meeting, hmm?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know I never pay attention during those things,” Ging smirks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But you seemed </span>
  <em>
    <span>particularly</span>
  </em>
  <span> out of it today,” Pariston murmurs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I guess I did have some other things on my mind,” Ging chuckles darkly. He leans against Pariston’s desk and swings a leg up, grinning at the blonde as his shoe lands on a neatly kept pad of paper. “Why do you ask?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We tend to think alike, have you noticed?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmmm. Sometimes, sure.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pariston smiles. “Is it possible you were distracted because of our activities this morning, Ging?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Ging shrugs and picks up one of Pariston’s pens, spinning it on a fingertip absentmindedly. “But I’m a busy guy, sweetheart, I’ve got a lotta things on my mind.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Such as?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Such as what I wanna do for lunch,” Ging chuckles. He stops the pen and flicks it out, tilting Pariston’s chin up in one fluid motion. “And I just figured it out,” he whispers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pariston speaks without breathing. “Oh?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Falafel,” Ging whispers. He drops the pen and pushes off of Pariston’s desk, striding across the room. “I’ll see you later, Pariston,” he calls over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The blonde exhales slowly, clenching his fists tighter as he does. His arms move downwards robotically until they connect with the surface of his desk. Pariston frowns. “Hmmm.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>—————————</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cheadle’s smooth voice stutters as Ging drifts back into the conference room hours later. She sniffs dismissively and continues speaking. “As you can all see, the question isn’t the educational system; rather, we are here to debate the publicity of the association.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And I think we need a rebrand,” Pariston laughs brightly. Botobai huffs. Ging leans over the panda he left in his chair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Pyon, can I talk to you a sec?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sighs but gets up, trailing after him into the hall. Cheadle’s fist shakes slightly around her pen. Ging pulls the door shut and leans against the wall. “Know any good clubs on this side of town?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pyon glances up from her phone. “Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>kidding</span>
  </em>
  <span> me?! </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> what you—ugh,” she groans. She goes back to her phone, typing twice as fast now. “Whatever, the meeting’s dragging on anyways. Cheadle really needs to stop letting Pariston bait her.” She rolls her eyes and decisively presses a button. Ging’s phone beeps. Pyon glares at him. “Are you staying, or does Mr. Freeccs have something </span>
  <em>
    <span>better</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ging pulls his phone out and grins. “Thanks. Owe you one,” he responds absentmindedly. He wanders away down the hall, ignoring the girl’s angry shout of his name. </span>
</p>
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